


They Kept Buying Me Drinks

by TabithaJean



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alcohol, Cancer Arc, Christmas Party, Drinking, Light Angst, The X-Files - Freeform, pre-episode: s05e06 Christmas Carol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21919690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabithaJean/pseuds/TabithaJean
Summary: The aftermath of the 1997 departmental Christmas party.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 5
Kudos: 72





	They Kept Buying Me Drinks

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second fic I've posted, and it's sort of similar to my first in a few ways. I was thinking about Scully's first Christmas after her remission, and how her colleagues might react. I'm also always intrigued by Scully doing things that are the opposite of what we see on screen, as I would love for her to be a more dimensional early-thirty something at times. I'm also intrigued by how she handles all her emotional trauma (see first fic!). 
> 
> I don't get a lot of time to write, so this isn't as polished as I'd like. But I wanted to post before Christmas. I'm also very new so would love feedback

It was a little after ten thirty when Mulder caught Skinner’s eye from across the room. The departmental Christmas party had started at 6pm with a hotel dinner, but Mulder and Scully had opted to forgo the forced table plans and mediocre mass pot roast, arriving at 8pm in time for the band to start. Mulder was catching up with some colleagues from the VCU when Skinner appeared in the doorway between the bar and the dance floor and beckoned Mulder with a tilt of his head. The band was playing a Van Morrison cover, and Mulder dodged his way across the dance floor. Once Mulder reached him, Skinner pointed towards the crowd in the bar.

The room was narrow with low Tiffany lighting, and a rainbow disco ball effect created by art deco mirrored walls reflecting the different liquor bottles which stood on shelves behind the bar. Mulder felt like it could have been in a railway station bar in the mid 1920s. High stools lined the bar, but also the opposite wall in between tall drinks tables. He saw his partner perched on one such stool, her head following the bustle around her. She struggled to focus on the detail, and her lips were pursed shut. Mulder hit the side of Skinner's shoulder.

‘Thanks,’ he said and walked across to stand in front of Scully. She looked up with heavy eyes and a half smile before leaning forward. Her forehead bumped heavily against his sternum; the impact felt tender like a bruise. She rested there and he ran his hands up and down her spine. ‘Home time?’

She nodded against his chest before leaning back against the wall to regard him with half-closed eyes. 

‘They kept buying me drinks.’ Her voice was low, somnambulant and smooth, reminding him of rich blue velvet. 

‘I can see that,’ he murmured with bemusement. ‘How much have you had?’

‘Uh… two gin and tonics. A tequila. A vodka coke. Another tequila. A gin and tonic.’

_And that’s what you remember drinking,_ he thought to himself.

‘Scully you had all that in,’ he checks his watch, ‘two and a half hours? Hoo boy. You _are_ in the party spirit.’

‘And that’s what I remember drinking.’ He smiled as he took her hand to help her off the stool, steadying her as she found her balance. Her arm linked under his and he held it tight against him as they walked slowly out of the bar. She stopped and blinked at him.

‘Mulder, do you have my purse?’

‘I have it, Scully.’ He patted her purse on his other arm and held her coat open while she circled uncertainly into it before they entered to cool night air. She walked like a puppet, her joints magnified and her feet tripping over each other.

In the cab, her head was a bouncy ball bobbing up and down. Unable to stay awake against the lull of the car’s rhythm, the weight of her head falling forward woke her instantly. She wouldn’t normally appreciate being observed, but this version of Scully wasn’t nearly so self-conscious. She remained quite contained and reticent, but she moved slowly with more fluidity, as if she was in water. Eventually Mulder slid across into the middle seat and pulled her head against his shoulder. She relaxed.

The steps outside her apartment were already laced with a thin layer of ice. He wrapped his arms around his torso, ignoring the clouds of breath which left his mouth, while his partner sat heavily next to him with her head in between her legs. She breathed steadily to stem the strong tide of nausea.

‘They kept buying me drinks,’ she muttered again in between breaths.

‘Who did?’

‘All of them. Butler, Maloney, Shelby…’ She trailed off and took a deep inhale through her nose, spitting on the floor. ‘Skinner bought me the first one.’

‘We’ve all been there Scully.’ He rubbed her shoulder, and she shrugged him off. ‘I’m no stranger to praying at the porcelain alter after a few drinks.’

‘Not me.’ She shook her head and spoke gently, with pride. ‘Not since college.’

‘Well I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job of catching up now.’

She laughed before hiccupping, and immediately concentrated on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Spit.

‘You know Scully, you might feel better if you –‘

‘I will _not_ be sick.’ Her voice held the ghosts of chemos past. The frost on the car windshields twinkled under the street lamps, and his pants were wet where the ice had melted under him.

‘Mulder, I don’t have my purse.’

‘I’ve got it, Scully. Don’t worry.’

He held her hand as she stumbled up the remaining stairs and into her corridor. She leaned against the door with her hair over her eyes while he fished her keys out of her purse. Once the door opened, and he had led her in, he dropped her arm and kept his distance. Something about being in her space made her more inaccessible. He followed her lead here, whereas on the other side of that wall he had manoeuvred around her with confidence.

He made her toast in the darkened kitchen, while she sat at the kitchen table.

‘Mulder, do you have my purse?’ she asked. He placed it on the table along with a glass of water, and she lay her head into the corner of her elbow, closing her eyes like a sleepy school child on a hot Friday afternoon.

‘They kept buying me drinks,’ her words flowed into one another like a conga chain. ‘I couldn’t stop them.’

‘I know, you mentioned this,’ Mulder replied, his voice still laden with bemusement. ‘What’s your trick, Agent Scully? How can I get involved next time?’

‘Well, Agent Mulder, it’s really quite simple,’ she yawned. ‘You live when everyone thought you were going to die.’

Mulder felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. He couldn’t inhale, he was winded. This was so far from what he was expecting. He didn’t know what he was expecting. But it wasn’t this.

‘None of them knew what to say to me,’ she continued. Her words were slow and lazy, and she wasn’t aware of their impact. ‘They all thought I was done, and so did I quite frankly, and yet here I am. They smiled and bought me drink after drink, toasting my return to work. And honestly … it was easier to accept their drinks than it was to try and answer the questions in their eyes.’

Mulder suddenly needed to touch her, to reaffirm to himself that yes, she was in fact here, she was in remission and as physically present as this kitchen bench he leaned against. He reached across the table and gripped her free arm, the one that wasn’t supporting her head, squeezing it with more desperation than with care. She opened her eyes in surprise, struggling to focus.

‘Hey, you should drink your water. Small sips. Come on.’

After her toast he led her to the couch rather than let her go to bed, because he was selfish. Though it had been mere months, he had already forgotten what it had felt like to start each day with a gamble, a promise, a bargain to a god that belonged to her to please let her live just one more day. A few minutes before he had been so cautious, treating her apartment as if it was some holy space and he should hold back, but now that seemed ridiculous. He needed to bury himself in her scent, to cling to her as tightly as a drop of dew clings to a blade of grass.

He sat on the couch in front of her Christmas tree and tucked her against his side, his arm hugging her shoulders to him. He kissed her hair heavily, not caring that it wasn't part of their usual dance.

‘Mulder…’ Scully mumbled. She was tired. ‘I didn’t mean to drink that much.’

‘I know, Scully,’ Mulder whispered. She lifted her head off his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I also have your purse.’ She sank heavily against him.

A few minutes later, her head slipped down from his shoulder and rested on the centre of his chest. He felt his heart beat slow as he relaxed and imagined her head pulsating with his rhythm. _You’re here, you’re here, you’re here._ The room was silent except for Scully’s mouth breathing, and his shirt grew steadily damp around her cheek.

Eventually he picked her up and carried her to her room. She was heavy and felt a little too close to an actual dead weight, so he concentrated on her heavy exhales against his neck. He lay her on the bed, covered her in a blanket, and moved her suitcase which was already half full in anticipation of her trip to San Diego in two days. She was still in her black dress from the party. She didn’t wake; she didn’t protest her independence and privacy, and her vulnerability made Mulder feel dirty.

It was early. He could get a cab and go home. She didn’t need him there, not really. Yet he wasn’t ready to leave this Christmas-that-almost-wasn’t, and so he returned to his spot on the couch.

Daylight brought a return of equilibrium. Mulder awoke to a pale light casting a frosty glare over the living room, and the sound of retching coming from the bathroom because even the strongest will in the world is no match for a colleague’s insistence for liquid Christmas cheer the night before. He didn’t open the door, didn’t check she was all right, thank god those days were gone and she didn’t need him for something as mundane as a hangover. He stood up to turn the coffee machine on.

Scully emerged from her room 15 minutes later with wet hair, red eyes and fresh sweats. Her eyebrow raised in surprise as she saw him pouring coffee.

‘Morning Scully,’ he started, wanting to ease any awkwardness. ‘That was quite a stunt you pulled last night just so we could leave that god awful party early. Next year I’ll be sure to return the favour.’

‘Mulder,’ she said, and cleared her raw throat, ‘have you… ah, there it is.’

She yawned and sat down at the table. She moved her purse and rested her head on the corner of her elbow, closing her eyes as he scrambled eggs for them both. _You’re here, you’re here, you’re here._


End file.
